


Centauri

by englandwouldfalljohn



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Post-Armageddon, Soft and Cozy, feel good fic, pre-trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27474097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: A few hours following the end that never came, Aziraphale found himself in Mayfair. Watching over a sleeping demon, the silent hours brought questions he longed to avoid — and an answer for which he’d never dared to hope.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	Centauri

It was the heat that woke Aziraphale. In all the years Crowley had been living in Mayfair, he’d never been invited into his flat until now. It was borderline arid inside; all traces of humidity were channeled into an airy space stuffed with greenery. Containing water molecules in a room with no doors must’ve taken quite the miracle, Aziraphale realized. 

He straightened himself in the chair he had angled tactfully away from Crowley’s sleeping form. When the offer to stay the night came two hours earlier, he had felt the most dreadful pangs of hope clutch at his heart. It wasn’t that he had any _expectations;_ that would be quite unangelic of him indeed. No, it was nothing so predictably human as sex gripping at his insides. As Crowley took hold of his hand and welcomed him into his home, led him into his bedroom and asked him with nothing more than a pleading glance not to leave, wave after wave of it rushed over Aziraphale: intimacy. This was what flooded his veins now, rivaling the sweltering air and breaking him into a sweat he was too shaken to wipe away. He stilled his own breath, the unearthly silence enveloping him, broken only by the whisper of Crowley’s gentle snores. 

The vulnerability of sleep was unmatched, Aziraphale knew. There was a reason he rarely indulged in it himself. The trust required to willingly surrender consciousness in his presence, after all they had witnessed at the near end of the world, had to be tremendous. He shivered, and the sweat running down his temple suddenly turned cold. What right had he, after his deceit, his disavowal of their private millennia of companionship, to accept such a heavy pronouncement of faith? What could he have done to deserve this beautiful burden—to become once more, on this of all nights, the guardian at the gate of dreams? 

Aziraphale’s tongue was an ungainly weight against his lower teeth, and swallowing ceased to be a reflex. This creature, this castaway in the world of men, had given more than a shelter to pass the hours until judgement. He had made a request for protection, and in doing so, had bestowed upon Aziraphale the singular role he had craved for most of his corporeal existence. The scent of wine and parchment floated to his nostrils as soft fingertips pressed against damp eyelids. He didn’t deserve this, but Heaven be damned to Hell if he wouldn’t fight for it. 

Lost in the mental fortifying of his own vow, he failed to notice the shift in breathing from the bed, until the soft muttering became a whimpering plea. His head snapped up, and he chastised himself for being remiss in his duties so early into the night. He should not move closer, he warned himself; should not strain his hearing to understand the words falling from Crowley’s trembling lips. Fortunately, his body was horribly traitorous, and in seconds he was perched on the edge of the mattress, leaning precariously toward the figure sprawled in the centre. 

‘-gel. Angel, stay. They’ll take you if… safe with me. With me, Angel, always… Please… not again… never again…’

Aziraphale should not be hearing this, he knew. He edged closer. 

‘Love isn’t… not meant to…’ Crowley’s brows furrowed in anguish, and he looked for all the world as if he’d be on his knees in prayer if he had been awake. Aziraphale wondered how many times Crowley may have collapsed before Her in desperation, how many times he had received nothing but silence. His bones ached with longing. He, himself, had felt Her guiding hand countless times. But the sudden realization that what he needed, what he had desired since his inception, had remained a hairbreadth out of reach, sent another wash of ice over him. He was beginning to understand why Crowley kept his flat so damn warm. 

‘But you, Aziraphale.’

He didn’t even know he had lain his head down, and tucked his lumpy, jacket-clad body under the duvet. 

‘Yes?’ he murmured, vaguely aware he was asking a sleeping demon for a solution even She had not deigned to give.

‘You… I love.’

His gasp must have been just this side of deafening, because Crowley’s eyes blew open, dual suns eclipsed by the dilated shadows of anxiety. On instinct, Aziraphale’s hands flew to his temples, pressing in a calm against the storm he had unwittingly unleashed in his moment of disbelief. Seconds felt like hours, and as the white edges slowly returned to those eyes, the miracle turned to shushing, and fingertips slid into sweat-damp hair. 

‘Angel?’ Crowley sighed. ‘Is it still… are we still…’

‘It is. We are. Crowley…’

‘Mm?’ His voice was sleepy and warm.

‘I- I love you, too.’

The smile that spread across his face stole all the wrinkles from his brow, and white teeth competed cheerfully with shining eyes for attention. There was no trace of denial, none of the protest Aziraphale suddenly realized he’d been anticipating in that endless moment before he spoke. There was nothing in the world, nothing save two immortal souls in desperate need of one another. His hands tangled into the hair at the back of Crowley’s head as one, or perhaps it was both of them, surged forward. When lips met lips, it was not tentative. Crowley had always taken him at his word, he knew, and if he said he loved him, well, that must have been good enough. 

There was no battle for control, no struggle for dominance. No, they had never been that. They were two stars,circling the same centre; two hearts with a single beat. They were with one another, in one another. They were doing what Aziraphale was finally certain they had always been meant to. They were becoming one. 


End file.
